


yesterday, the night before, tomorrow

by breakeven



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Begging, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Breathplay, Bruises, Bucky likes to cook ok, But Sweet, Choking, Comeplay, Consensual Kink, Cooking, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Insomnia, Land of 1000 tags, M/M, Painplay, Pet Names, Pinching, Praise Kink, Protective Steve Rogers, Spit Kink, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, THIS IS SO MUCH, Top Steve Rogers, True Love, Wet & Messy, forgot one, it's ok, ok I'm done, that sounds so gross but uh, that too, this is filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6759724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakeven/pseuds/breakeven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Want me to wake you at 2 in the morning and ask you to choke me ‘til I black out?”</p><p>“If it’ll help.”</p><p>Bucky has insomnia, some issues, and Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yesterday, the night before, tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> this is really smutty but really sweet, I think, so please enjoy. There's more warnings in the notes at the end, so heed those if need be, but this isn't too intense. well it is but it's not heavy on anything too triggering, I don't think, but that's just me. unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. sorry. Title from the song "Tonight" by Lykke Li lmfao

Nights like these tend to be impossible for Bucky to navigate.

Steve likes the penthouse to be kept at a nice, cool 69 degrees fahrenheit now that his body runs so warm, and he likes all of the lights off because he hates feeling as though he’s being watched. Bucky has never questioned that, and has never pushed for anything else, but on nights like these, he wishes he had. Because it’s 3:14 am and he can feel the grounding weight of Steve Rogers on top of him, the huge arm thrown carelessly over his stomach, the leg tangled with his, but it’s not enough to keep him here. His mind is a million miles away, focused on too many different things at once, and making him hypervigilant and a little paranoid. Even with his enhanced vision he can see very little, he can just make out the edges of their bedside table and the door of the ensuite, but other than that he’s left to what he knows to be there, and that’s not helping him calm down at all. On nights like these he’s reminded of the very beginning, and where he was kept after they’d found him the second time. The darkness becomes claustrophobic and it gnaws at him like a wolf trying to hobble its prey.

Nights like these are impossible to escape, for Bucky.

They come in waves and they ebb and flow like them too. Tonight is just one in a series of them, one in a cycle of wellness and its balanced overwhelming, crushing decline. These nights are nightmarish, they keep Bucky’s heart racing and his mind running, but they’re never filled with nightmares. He very rarely dreams up the monsters of his past, as they prefer to visit him during the daylight hours anyway, but he feels like he can sense them creeping up his arms and legs; physical embodiments of the hell he endured.

He never wakes Steve. Instead, Bucky just slips out of bed and he makes his way towards the sunken living room of the penthouse, and he does so right now. He goes and he softly commands for JARVIS to turn the lights on the dimmest setting and get a kettle boiling so that he can enjoy the special tea Bruce sends him from time to time. He boots up his laptop, this tricked out monstrosity that Tony so nicely provided him with, and he scrolls through Pinterest, bookmarking recipes that he’ll probably end up trying throughout the week. Whenever his sleep has been particularly awful, he spends hours upon hours cooking and baking for everyone in the Tower, and while they love the pumpkin spice muffins and the M&M cookies, they all always take the baked goods with a sad tilt to their heads that Bucky can’t really stand.

He spends hours scouring the internet. JARVIS warns him when his kettle is about to reach boiling point so he can get up and turn off the heat before it wakes Steve, and he sits with his mug, which is specially handmade Black Widow merch Natasha purchased for him off Etsy for his birthday, and he orders the ingredients he’ll need for the next few days. He and Steve both hate modern grocery stores, and they hate to admit it, but they’re the new aged hipsters looking for organic, pasture-raised foods, so they get their food from a specialty store that also happens to deliver. Sometimes they drive all the way out north to go to this farmer’s market where they get homemade jams, and preserves and dream catchers and other whimsical things that Bucky tries to imitate in his free time. He’s already planning a trip for Saturday because this week’s been really hard and he could use the fresh aired anonymity of it.

Around 6 am the sun starts to rise and Bucky starts to fall asleep. In the back of his mind he knows that Steve will be getting up in maybe 40 minutes to get his run in and he’ll come into the living room and slip a hand gently through his hair before walking out of the building, only to return to Bucky sleeping a bit more fitfully on the sofa before he eventually wakes up. And Steve will be worried and he’ll probably want to call Bruce and ask him about sleep patterns and what kinds of medication they could use or create to help and it’ll become a Big Deal, but that’s okay. He’s just glad to be getting a little bit of shut eye in. Steve would be happy too.

The insomnia makes Bucky irritable too. About an hour and a half after his usual return, Steve is sitting in the loveseat on the other side of the living room sketching, and Bucky’s waking up. The sun is streaming in, warming up their home and the paperbacks on their bookshelves are slanted in and grinning at Steve, the center of all of this wonder, and Bucky is waking up. He stands and he stretches and his neck and back pop loudly and he groans.

“Morning,” he grunts at Steve with a tired grin.

“Morning,” Steve says quietly, with a sad smile, “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

And for some reason that really annoys Bucky, who was feeling warm and a little satiated a moment before, and the smile on his face falls and he’s angry.

“Was it ever good?” he snaps, grabbing his mug off of the coffee table and walking quickly into the kitchen.

Like the rest of their friends, Steve is quick to pity, but unlike the rest of them, he knows Bucky well enough not to show it. He’s known Bucky for longer than Bucky’s known himself, has known him through panic, and fear, has known him through gangly teenage years, and war, and years of jaded work down at docks that nearly drove him mad with drink and women. He knows that Bucky thinks he doesn’t need one lick of help, because it’s never been offered and he’s always been just fine with that. Sometimes Bucky wishes Steve would just be okay with that too so he’d stop offering all of his angrily beating heart up for Bucky to hurt.

“I don’t know, was it?” Steve sighs, already tired of the fight they’ve had a thousand times. It’s been four days and this is the most sleep Bucky’s gotten through the entirety of them and he wishes this could satisfy Steve the way it does for him, he wishes he could be better in all the ways that he should.

“What the hell do you think?” and he’s still in the kitchen, Steve in the living room no longer drawing, the bookshelves stiff in anticipation and fear for the battle about to be waged in front of them, but he hears the change in Steve’s breath that makes him apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sighing now himself, “I’m just-”

“Tired?” Steve scoffs, standing up and walking into the kitchen. Here, the light is artificial and dim, and there’s already a kettle ready for Bucky to use, like Steve’s been waiting for him to wake up. That’s not new at all, really.

He comes and stands behind Bucky, huge and warm in a way that has never been about size, and he wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, the other gripping his right bicep.

“Sorry,” Bucky says again, quieter this time, less sharp. Steve nods against his shoulder, the peach fuzz on his face tickling at Bucky’s neck and making him let out a little huff of laughter.

“I know. You don’t have to be though.”

They spend the day cooking. Bucky makes three egg omelettes for breakfast, with mushrooms, tomatoes, chives, and ham, even though Steve has probably already eaten, and they sit in their little kitchen nook, smiling at each other over their mugs and newspapers respectively. It’s nice and the appliances are all encouraging them. After breakfast Bucky does yoga in the living room and Steve leers at him, refraining, for the most part, from making crude comments about his ass. The ones that do slip are met with scandalized exclamations of “Captain!” and “Father Moore is rolling in his grave” and, Steve’s personal favorite, “Steven Grant, what kind of dame do you take me for?”. Bucky’s pretty sure he just gets more and more lewd for the hell of it.

Lunch dances around and Bucky preps tuna pan bagnat while Steve goes into the bedroom to take a call from Natasha. She was due to come for dinner Thursday evening but she’s been sent to London on a recon mission, so she most likely won’t be back until Saturday evening at the earliest and she’s really sorry for canceling on her best guys. When Steve relays this message Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Glad we won’t have to deal with that heathen, girl can’t keep her feet off the furniture,” he playfully complains. Steve nods gravely and accepts his sandwich from Bucky’s waiting hands.

Everything is fine until after dinner. At that point they’re both stuffed full of new age super foods, like spinach and quinoa, and they’re laid out on their sofa happily, warm and nearly sleep soft with contentment. The lights are dim and In Treatment is on the television and Bucky wants so badly to sleep, he can feel it in his bones. The paintings on the walls are singing lullabies and Steve’s hands feel so good wrapped around his chest, and Bucky knows that if he’s going to get to sleep tonight it’s going to be right now. His heart rate is slowing and Steve hasn’t shifted around at all in 20 minutes.

Just as his eyes are drifting shut, as Steve’s fingers draw a delicate pattern of his heart, as the end credits of the episode roll-

“I hate to interrupt, sirs, but-,” JARVIS begins politely, right before the flashing red emergency lights in the apartment begin pulsing. Steve, who had been dozing too, flinches to start, making Bucky jump up too. With their wakefulness comes the registering of the wailing sirens coming from the hallways surrounding them, and the wide open elevator.

“What the hell is going on JARVIS?” Steve demands, standing and running towards the control panel in the wall next to the TV. Bucky is still sitting dazedly on the sofa, staring at the floor, his mind suddenly whirring and inescapable.

“There seems to be an emergency in Washington, D.C. Captain Rogers. Yours and Sergeant Barnes’s presence has been requested immediately.”

Steve, still standing a few feet away, looks over to Bucky, stricken, eyes wide, and hesitates before answering, “W-We’ll be on the jet in 20.”

It’s a stealth mission so it makes sense that the only people invited along are Bucky, Steve, and Clint, but it’s a stealth mission that also involves Bucky perched on the roof of a warehouse protecting an underground bunker no one in the United States government other than the Secretary of Defense knows about, so that’s the real confusing part. They aren’t briefed on what’s going on in the underground bunker, but surely someone else has been because as soon as the three of them arrive at the site, and get onto the roof they’re met with a steady stream of heavily armed men coming from the back of what looks like a WalMart semi truck.

Steve comes up with the plan, though it’s pretty basic, that begins with Clint staying up top and picking off guys from the outside, and signalling the guys in the bunker that the place is going to get blown up in about 15 minutes, while Steve and Bucky go in and work on the perps from there and try to get into the bunker to evacuate its occupants. Once they’re in though, things get a little messy. Bucky can feel the undue rage simmering in him just below the surface of his skin, and as Steve work on breaking through the huge titanium trap door in the ground he feels himself slide back into a skin he’s not very comfortable wearing anymore. There’s a coldness, a calculation he tries not to find himself relying on as he fights right now. He kills the men meticulously, with determination and the kind of ease that only someone as practice and ruthless as the Soldier could manage and as he does so it’s like watching from above, like he’s not in his body anymore and something else has taken over it. He ignores the screams, the choking on blood, the heavy, solid thumps of fully armed men falling to the ground like one ignore the background noise that comes with living in New York City, like he’s just that familiar.

By the time Steve gets the damn door open, Clint has gotten a secure transmission to the people in the bunker and they’re all armed with kevlar vests and backed up hard drives of information saved from the computers they’ve been told to totally destroy. Bucky can feel them staring at him in horror as he takes down his last gunman, the last man standing out of the semi truck full of them, with a disturbingly well placed kick to his trachea and the dislocating of his shooting arm for good measure. Steve doesn’t say anything to him, just instructs the techs to walk out of the building where clandestine vans have arrived to take them all back to extraction. The techs ride in one while Steve, Bucky, and Clint ride in the other, and the driver of theirs hands Bucky a handkerchief for him to use to wipe the blood off of his face and arm. He doesn’t say anything to anyone as he tries to remove himself from the overwhelmingly cathartic feeling of not having to think anymore that has always possessed the Soldier. It’s probably the scariest thing about that mindset; that it can seem so easy to be a monster.

The ride home is very quiet.

Bucky does sleep that night, but then again, he usually does after a mission with casualties, as sick as that is. He and Steve arrive home and he refuses to make eye contact with the other man as they undress in their obnoxiously large bathroom and as they shower, and when he gets in the bed he rolls onto his side to face away from Steve entirely. The blankets are cold and mournful.

The next day, Bucky spends it avoiding Steve. He knows what the Soldier looks like to Captain America, he knows the ruthless efficiency scares him, the mindless killing makes him nervous. He knows Steve can’t stand to carry a gun, and he knows Steve probably doesn’t enjoy letting a loaded one into his bed to sleep at night, or kissing one good morning, so he just keeps his distance. It makes him feel shivery and off balanced. He doesn’t cook at all.

* * *

 

“Look at me,” Steve says, his voice as dark as the room Bucky is sullenly sitting in. The TV isn’t on, and the lights aren’t either. Steve’s been in the gym for the better part of 4 hours, probably avoiding Bucky too, and now he’s back. 

Bucky looks up, flinching a little, “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, now his voice is gentler. He kneels in front of the sofa and looks up at Bucky, taking the other man’s face into his hands, “Tell me right now.”

“Am I- what? What do you mean?”

“You won’t speak to me, you haven’t eaten. Are you okay?” Steve tries again, and Bucky is perplexed.

“I-I was _him_ , yesterday. So I just- I didn’t think-,” Bucky begins, feeling something tighten in his chest like a fist around his heart.

“You didn’t think I’d what? Want to be near you? Want to see you?”

“Want to touch me,” he admits in a voice that is barely a whisper, and like that the dam is broken. He’s sucking in harsh breaths and his eyes are beginning to water in a way that he knows means _panic_ and not sadness. He brings his right hand, not the metal one, never that, to touch the delicate skin on the inside of Steve’s wrist and he closes his eyes, “I didn’t think you’d- I didn’t know if you’d want me. If I was still- If I’m still like that.”

Steve _tsks_ gently in concern and regret, “Oh _Buck_ , Bucky,” he coos. His hand makes its way around Bucky’s body to rub at his back consolingly, “You’re not him though,” he reassures fiercely. Bucky doesn’t have to open his eyes to know the look in Steve eyes, but he gasps anyway, like he’s seen those baby blues lighting up with passion.

“Not anymore.”

“Not ever again. You never have to be him again.”

And Steve keeps rubbing his back, and he pressed closer to Bucky so that he’s up all close and warm and it ignites something inside of Bucky that he hasn’t felt in the past week and a half because of the lack of sleep.

“Steve?” he says quietly, directly into the other man’s ear.

“Hmm?”

“I _need_ you,” he all but whines, and it’s like the air around them has been electrified, everything about their dynamic suddenly shifted and twisted into something new and sparkling and just discovered. Steve rumbles a chuckle, changing into his role as easily as ever, and mutters into Bucky’s ear.

“You need me baby?,” he husks, earning a muffled moan from Bucky, “Huh? Tell me about it then sweetheart. Tell me what you _need_ .” and he pinches Bucky’s side harshly, but this time Bucky can’t hold back the whimper that slides past his lips. He loves it like this, when it’s teasing and it hurts but it _feels_ like something and that’s what matters to Bucky.

“I-I need you, Steve, anything please. Please, I need it s-so bad,” he begs and can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed about the way he sounds. Everything that was worrying him is already starting to be forgotten and he’s just about to vibrate out of his skin with the need to have Steve’s hands on him.

They fell into this dynamic very suddenly. It was unexpected and very strange to both of them, who were greatly without practice in sex, let alone sex with the kinky additions, but very welcome. The submission gave something Bucky something he hadn’t known he was looking for: approval and absolution, and Steve was more than happy to be the trusted provider of such care.

“Steve? Is that what you call me when we’re playing, sweetheart?” he replies, voice hardening to steel and his hand tightening its grip on Bucky’s face. He jerks his head away from where Bucky’s hiding his expression in the crook of Steve’s neck, and forces eye contact. Bucky grunts as Steve uses his other hand to pinch him again, “Answer me.”

“No!” Bucky wails, “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to-to forget.”

“Good boy. You’re forgiven,” Steve soothes, easing his grip on Bucky’s jaw, “Stand up for me now baby, I’ve had a long workout, and I want you to use to guest bathroom and get yourself cleaned up. Do you understand?”

Bucky shivers and nods, “Yes sir, I understand.”

“Good boy. I want you waiting for me in no more than 15 minutes.”

“Yes sir,” and Steve sends him off with a deep, imploring kiss that makes him bend backwards with the force of it and a pinch to his ass that makes his knees try and buckle.

He moves quickly in the shower, though he tries to convince himself that he’s not over eager for this. They haven’t played in a while though, because of him, and he needs it so badly. He wants this so badly. And it’s hard to admit to himself that this is something, this submission of himself wholly to Steve, is something that he needs to keep him grounded, but he always feels so much better after he does. The promise of subspace is singing to him.

Eight minutes later, he’s out of the shower. Steve is still enjoying his, probably getting himself in the mindset he needs for this kind of play, so Bucky sort of stares around the room before deciding on what to do with himself. Steve didn’t give him any specific instructions, which means it’s his choice and he wants this to be good.

He spends 5 more minutes on his knees on the bed before he finally hears the water shut off in the ensuite. The muscles in his stomach tighten up in anticipation and he’s already hard and ready for whatever Steve’s willing to give him. He can’t wait.

The bathroom door opens to reveal a cloud of steam, because Steve likes his showers incredibly hot, and the man himself, completely naked. He didn’t bother to dry himself with a towel, or even keep one around his waist, and the sight of his hard cock, curved and pink, has Bucky’s mouth instantly watering.

“Oh _good boy_ ,” Steve groans, walking over towards the bed. Bucky doesn’t move, he makes himself stay very still, but a chill goes down his spine as the words of praise register, “You’re just what I want, baby. So good,” Steve continues to come closer, eventually climbing up onto the bed too and motioning for Bucky to crawl over

“Please,” Bucky mumbles as Steve grabs him and tugs him near, earning him a low chuckle from the other man, “Please, sir, I wan’ it.”

Shaking his head fondly, Steve runs his hands over Bucky’s naked skin reverently. It’s hard to contain the noises coming out of his mouth because it already feels so good, the heat of Steve’s wet hands all over his own cooling skin, the slide of Steve’s hard cock on his hip, but he does sincerely try. There’s a hand on the back of his neck dragging him close and the other gripping his hip in a grip that should leave bruises for a few hours. Bucky is shaking.

Lips close to his ear, Steve whispers, “You want it, pet?” Bucky groans, trying to grind against Steve’s body, “What do you want? You want me to lay you out on this bed and fuck that mouth of yours until you pass out? Or do you want be to open your tight little hole with my tongue, get you all wet and needy before I fuck you? Huh? You gotta tell me something, Buck, or I can’t give it to you.”

Having let himself get lost in the sound of Steve’s voice, Bucky reacts too slowly, earning a reprimanding slap on his ass and Steve’s hand tightening around his nape. He gasps out loud, his mind taking a few seconds to really catch up with the situation and he shakes with the overwhelming sensation he’s been hit with. The hand on his neck is as hot as a brand and the his hips are twitching without his permission because he needs friction on his cock so badly and he moans, loud and wanton, with it all.

“Sir please don’t make me- don’t make me say it _please_ ,” he begs, trying to reach his hands out to grip his sir’s leaking cock, but his wanting hands are slapped away quickly. It’s so flushed and pretty and Bucky surprises himself every time they play like this with how badly he wants that hot iron length inside of him, in any way, in any hole.

The grip tightens further and now, the hand on his hip moves faster than he can track, and cracks across his cheek. Like a thunderclap, the slap snaps through Bucky’s body and lights him up from the inside, leaving a flaming mark on his face. He gasps again, louder this time and his reaching hands can’t find anywhere to rest but on Steve’s bulging biceps.

“You don’t tell me what the fuck to do, little boy. You know I hate it when you talk back,” he barks, voice cold and impersonal, and Bucky, in this headspace, can’t take it. Digging his nails into Steve’s shoulders, he squeezes his eyes shuts and opens his mouth to suck in a deep breath.

“I’m s-sorry sir, I’m sorry. It’s just-,”

“It’s what?” Steve growls and at this point Bucky’s so damn desperate for some contact, for his sir’s hands on him or in him or _something_ that he’s trying to get his fucking _legs_ around Steve’s waist, to no avail. The other man is quick and moves his hand to cover Bucky’s throat, pressing down just enough to make his next breath come in a wheeze that causes Bucky’s cock to twitch against his stomach. Steve pinches his thigh now in a warning for him to stop moving his legs and be still, and Bucky goes absolutely limp, spread out and damp from his shower beneath the only man alive he’d ever want above him.

“It’s embarrassing sir,” he admits shyly and breathily. He can barely focus for long enough to string a few words together but as soon as he gets those out Steve is on top of him, strong thighs on either side of his body and fist still clenched around his throat, stone faced as ever as he looks down at his little boy. Bucky fights not to squirm.

“Oh no,” he coos, loosening his fist to stroke his thumb lightly over Bucky’s jugular, “Don’t be shy baby, just tell me. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to ya, just gotta tell me first,” Sir is coaxing, and Bucky is just melting into his touch and his voice. There’s a blush lighting up his face, and not just from the smack Steve had just dealt to his face, but he powers through the humiliation of having to ask for it, for _this_ of all things, because Steve has told him to do so. He knows he won’t be made to feel disgusting for it, and Steve will not degrade him in any way he doesn’t want (though this really isn’t that kind of night), but it’s still caught in his throat.

“Tell me, little boy, or you’ll get nothing,” Steve commands, and Bucky positively whines at that.

“I want it like- like last time but. I don’t want- I don’t wanna be tied up or nothin’ tonight, I don’t want to be punished but I want you to-,” he takes a steadying breath before he pours everything out of himself, “I wanna be _yours_ sir, please. Wanna suck your cock like last time, please, I wan’ it to be all w-wet but I want you to tell me okay? Wan’ you to use me up, but please tell me?” he begs, bucking his hips harder and harder with each gasp of air he takes is, every one of his own words turning him on more and more as he thinks about the last time they’d played.

The last time they’d played it was after a two week mission Steve had gone on without Bucky, and it had been about punishment, about making sure Bucky knew who he belonged to after making himself come without permission to do so. Steve had walked through the elevator doors, forced Bucky to his knees right there in the foyer, unbuckled the jeans he’d changed into, and choked Bucky on his cock until he was gasping and coughing within an inch of his life. But what Bucky’s talking about now, what set that moment apart from any other punishing face-fucking Steve had put them through was what he’d done after he came. He specifically instructed Bucky not to swallow his release, made him open his mouth nice and wide as he kneeled at Steve’s feet, his hands on Steve’s hips and gripping him needily, as Steve collected all the spit and precome off of his cock with his hand and instructed Bucky to _lick it off_ . Bucky had felt absolutely filthy and slutty, but completely safe and possessed by Steve Rogers, like he’d only been put here on earth to please this man. But that hadn’t even been the final nail in the coffin that made Bucky come in his pants, completely untouched and without permission _again_ , it had been Steve’s hand in front of his mouth and the single command “Spit” and the hand around his throat making him empty the contents of his mouth into the outreached hand, only to have all of it, the come and saliva and humiliation of it all, smeared across his face. Steve used him like a handkerchief, getting all of the slime off of his hand completely before covering up Bucky’s mouth and nose too so his eyes got big and red and watery as he silently pleaded for air. Steve had knelt down to his level to whisper threateningly in his ear one single syllable: “Mine.” and Bucky came on the spot. It had been earth shattering, cataclysmic even, a singular moment of extraordinary bliss. His sir had caned the living hell out of him for disobeying not once, but _twice_ , but it had been so worth it.

Right now, his sir is groaning, long and loud above him, so close that Bucky can smell the clean, musky scent of his cock. He’s practically shaking with how much he needs to get his mouth on that cock, how badly he wants to bury his nose in the thicket of dark blonde pubic hair at the base, and gag on it like air is the last thing he’ll ever need.

“Aw _hell_ baby,” Steve mutters, “You want it like that?” Bucky nods eagerly, “Yeah? You want me to get you all filthy with my come and your spit and tell you how pretty you look with that mess covering your face? You wanna be my good _slutty_ boy tonight?”

“Yes, _please_ , sir. I loved it so much- please can I have it? Wan’ it so bad,” he pleads, eyes slipping closed again. Steve doesn’t make him open them back up again, but he does grip Bucky’s chin in his hand and lean in real close-

“Tell you what, hun. I’m gonna give it to you the way you want. First, I’m gonna spread you out and eat your cute little ass until you’re crying from it, gonna get a plug in that hole too, so you’re ready for me when I wanna use you, and then I’m going to fuck your throat ‘til you can barely see straight, how’s that? And when I get it back up, I’m gonna take that plug out of your ass, honey, and I’m going to put it right in your mouth, ‘cause I know you like havin’ something to keep that it busy, and I’m going to fuck you so good and hard you won’t be able to walk straight in the morning. Is there anything else you want, sweetheart?” he growls into Bucky’s ear, and if he could, Bucky would melt right through the floor. He’s gone completely boneless, like prey caught by the jugular, and his breathing is so shallow he feels like he’s just run a marathon.

“Tell me please, sir,” he sighs, barely audible.

“Oh I wouldn’t forget baby, how could I? You’re always so good for me, always such a beautiful, obedient little boy, I don’t know how I ever _stop_ telling you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re so welcome, baby. Color? Can I have your color before we start?”

“Green sir, please. So green.”

“Good.”

And it starts.

Steve manhandles his pliant body onto his stomach and hitches hips up, exposing sensitive skin to the cool air of their bedroom. The sheets are soft beneath his him and he grabs a pillow from above to bury his face in as Steve spreads his ass cheeks and examines his hole. He knows he’s clean, that was the whole point of the shower in the first place, but it still sends a zing of embarrassment and arousal up his spine to be looked at so intimately. He can feel Steve admiring the arch of his back, and he shivers when the man places a wet kiss on the small of his back.

“I’ll be right back,” he announces, and Bucky whimpers. Logically, he knows Steve is going to retrieve the plug he was talking about, and lube, but logic has just about flown out of the window for all he cares at the moment. All he wants is Steve. On top of him, in him, next to him, breathing the same air as him, whatever.

He’s just about to open his mouth to complain when Steve returns. There’s a dip in the mattress, and two warm hands bracketing his hips suddenly, moving up and down his sides as if warming him up. The anticipation of having Steve’s mouth on him makes him rock his hips back in search of something, anything to grind up again. Steve squeezes him in warning.

“You ready baby? Color?”

“Green sir, I’m ready,” he breathes, dropping his shoulders to the mattress and relaxing into Steve’s touch. Big artist’s hands drift over his skin lightly, raising goosebumps in their wake, and Bucky lets out a low groan at the feeling.

“So gorgeous,” Steve tells him, and places a kiss on his shoulder, “and all _mine_ ,” he continues kissing a wet trail down Bucky’s back reverently, stopping to suck marks into his skin that’ll fade in a few hours, but neither of them mind. That always means there’s room to make more.

Bucky is practically shaking when Steve finally opens him  up again. He’s filled with an erotic thrill at the thought of being looked at so intimately; Steve is the only person he’d ever trust with this part of himself, and he likes that Steve knows it. His cock is pressing against Bucky’s thigh, wet and slippery at the tip, and that feeling alone is enough to make Bucky’s own twitch hotly.

“And eager too? Such a good boy,” Steve praises, making Bucky shudder.

The first lick is rough and broad, the surface of Steve’s tongue lapping over his hole and making him cry out quietly. Steve’s thumbs are holding his ass cheeks apart and it feels dirty, absolutely filthy, and he fucking loves it. Steve alternates between flat out sucking on the sensitive rim of his hole, and doling out perfect little kitten licks right around it for a while before switching it up. He knows all of the ways to make Bucky shake and he pulls out all of the stops on nights like these, when he wants him all broken down and needy. When Bucky’s just starting to get into it, the sucking on his hole making him ache like he’s bruised there, Steve does something new and points his tongue to lick _inside_ of him, and he can feel his spit dripping into him.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he moans, voice gone wobbly, “oh _fuck_ yes,” he says. His hands are scrabbling to get a grip on the pillow he’s resting on top of, and his fingers clench and unclench with each undulation of Steve’s tongue. Steve’s own hand grips the globe of his cheek in his hand roughly, palming the muscles of Bucky’s ass possessively and fucking into that slowly loosening little hole like it’s his only duty in the world. He opens his mouth wide and gets his lips on the skin surrounding Bucky’s asshole and Bucky’s back arches violently as he slides almost the entire length of his tongue into him. The soft wetness gets him everytime and the sudden drip of even more spit, now travelling down the crack of his ass and the crease of balls, has him closer than he thought he’d be in such little time. Then again, he always has been a whore for having his ass eaten and he can’t imagine someone being better at it than his Steve. As it is he’s fucking himself back on Steve’s tongue and grinding his hips in helpless circles like he just can’t help it. Usually that would earn him a slap on his ass or a pinch to his thigh, but this time he gets a reward when Steve pulls away with a sloppy, nasty kiss to his hole before pulling his cheeks apart and peering down at the wet mess he’s just made. Bucky looks back at him and says nothing, just wriggles his ass in the air needily.

“You don’t know what you do to me baby, you just don’t get it,” Steve sighs, using his thumbs again to get Bucky wide open. The coolness of the room makes him all the more aware of everything that’s dripping in between his legs.

“More please, sir, _please_ ,” he begs, still arching towards him. Steve makes eye contact with him as he arches and rubs one big hand up and down his back, as if soothing a wild animal.

“You’ll get yours, don’t you worry,” Steve assures, “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good,” he growls and moving a little faster than Bucky could anticipate, he slides his index finger into his asshole. There’s barely any give, the muscle having unfurled and relaxed with Steve’s ministrations, and the suddenness of it makes Bucky let out a high pitched gasp.

“Fuck, sir, fuck, please do it, please, w-what I asked for,” he starts begging. He knows Steve is going to make him say it, but this is so sweet, how dirty it’s got him feeling to watch Steve watch him as he fingers him, and he’s enjoying dragging it out a little. They never break eye contact, but Steve changes the angle of his finger just a little, and the slide is tighter but the tip of Steve’s finger just barely grazes his prostate and his hips twitch into the feeling.

“What you asked for? Remind me what you asked for little boy. Be good and use your words for me,” Steve coaxes, stroking his insides just as slow as he’s speaking. Bucky’s panting.

“Wan’ it, sir, wan’ it wet,” he stammers, barely able to string together a coherent thought. He can feel Steve’s middle finger teasing his rim and he just can’t look away from his confident, controlled face as he turns Bucky’s limbs to jelly with the barest of touches. This feels like giving in, and giving _to_ Steve and Bucky loves this.

“Oh, you want me to lube my fingers up and prep you? Already? I thought you’d asked for something special?” he teases and Bucky whines at that, gyrating his hips back to tempt his sir into giving him more.

“Sir, sir please, you know what I asked for, please gimmie-,” Steve smacks his ass with his free hand, interrupting him and Bucky moans at that too, he just can’t seem to stop moaning.

“You tell me what you want right now little boy or I’ll spank you until you’re black and blue,” his sir snaps, and immediately Bucky’s cock is dripping right into the sheets like a fucking faucet’s been turned on. He loves it when Steve handles like this, with huge admonishing hands, like a little thing that needs to be reprimanded and cared for. His hips are moving without his permission for the most part now, and Steve pinches him this time, right in the crease where his thigh meets his ass.

“Fuck! I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry,” he gasps, and then “Can I please have your spit, sir? Can you please spit in my hole?” he whispers, face flaming with embarrassment. He likes giving this to Steve too, the process of him letting go of the control that has so long been instilled in him is a long one, but it always goes easier when he can physically feel himself do so. Before long, he’ll stop blushing and start begging, and Steve will take it all gladly. The first part is always the hardest though, so he’s squirming and flushed with arousal and shame and his eyes have just fallen closed in his mortification when he feels the nasty, warm trail of it hit his hole. He doesn’t know why he likes it so much, it must be the humiliation of having to ask for Steve to _spit on him_ , or maybe it’s the knowledge that this is something that would never be acceptable any other time, but either way as soon as Steve does it, he nearly collapses on himself. The finger in his hole is taken out, slowly, and Steve uses it to spread the wetness around before sliding two of his thick fingers into Bucky now. He moans, loud and whorish, and the sound turns him on even more, if that’s possible, because it’s so alien, yet so freeing, all because of Steve, who is thrusting those fingers in and out of him slowly but surely.

“What do you say?” he husks, voice gone all sex low and hungry. Bucky shudders with the timber of it.

“Thank you sir,” he sobs out, gripping his pillow like a lifeline, “Thank you for spitting on me,” and he’s breathless, his head spinning, with how badly he wants Steve’s cock now. He’s sliding back into this role very easily, becoming submissive and pliant in Steve’s capable hands and he feels so good, like he’s floating in a land of 1000 stars, and he wants Steve to use him to make himself feel this good too. It’s the least he can do for his sir, who takes such good care of him. He opens his eyes slowly, like he’s waking up in a world made of silver, and blinks owlishly.

Steve starts fingering him faster now, his fingers setting a nice tempo that cause his fingers to brush against that lightning place inside of him and teasing startled little moans out of Bucky each time. The only words he knows are: _please_ , _sir_ , _thank you_ , and _more_.

“There’s a good boy, there you are my pretty baby. You’re so gorgeous like this, taking me so well. I’m gonna plug you up now, okay? So you can get nice and stretched out for my cock,” Steve explains, still fingering him. Bucky blinks again and nods as best as he can with his face mashed into his sweat damp pillow. His hair is probably matted to his face and curling at the ends with sweat but the way Steve is looking at him has him feeling like the most desired commodity on earth.

“Yes please. Green, sir please. Wanna suck you,” he slurs, reaching his left arm out to the side, Steve grabs his hand and he registers pressure being applied, like a reassuring squeeze. He relaxes into Steve’s touch. Fingers slide out of him slowly and he grunts softly at the loss, but the soft _snick_ of the cap of the lube bottle being opened sort of reassures him.

Slowly, Steve eases the flared plug inside of him. There’s a pleasant stretch, but he opens right up for it and he sort of sighs as soon as it sinks home inside of him. The plug doesn’t press up against his prostate at all, so he’s not close because of it, but it does make him sink under even further. He’s barely aware of Steve flipping his body over at all.

Once he’s on his back though, he’s blinking up at Steve, who looks like some kind of avenging angel (no pun intended) as the light in their bedroom halos his head. His face is flushed and his lips are bitten red and raw but Bucky looks down and notices his prize, that hard, curved pink dick, dripping and waiting for him. His mouth is practically watering.

“You wanna suck my cock, honey?” he asks darkly. His thighs are on either side of Bucky’s and he feels caged in by those broad shoulders and the headboard, but that’s how he likes it.

“Yes sir, please. Gimmie it, gimmie please,” he pleads, gripping Steve by the hips and trying to pull him closer that way but Steve swats his hands away.

“Don’t be greedy pet,” he admonishes gently, “now lean back on the headboard. You know your signal if you need to stop while your mouth is full?”

Bucky nods and holds up two fingers, “Please sir? I’m ready. I wan’ it so bad.”

Steve grins, “I’m gonna give it to you baby boy, open up.”

Nothing puts Bucky under faster than sucking Steve’s cock. The masculine, clean scent of his sir in such close proximity to him makes Bucky’s head spin, and his cock is so thick and and long, the perfect weight and width for him to suckle and choke on. The head is always dripping and red, sometimes nearly purple, with need and so sensitive that even now as Steve slides the thick tip past Bucky’s lip, he lets out an uncharacteristically high pitched moan. It makes Bucky feel both powerful and safe where he is. He moans around the length slowly sliding down his throat and looks up at Steve, whose eyes are momentarily closed. He looks like a gift and Bucky feels stupidly grateful to have this man in his life.

When Steve opens his eyes again he’s more in control. For confirmation he nods his head once in question, and Bucky does the same as much as he can with a cock in his mouth. Steve starts thrusting, slow but deep at first, and as his head nudges the back of Bucky’s throat he slips farther and farther into that floaty beautiful place. Steve picks up speed, his dick sliding quickly and roughly now, making Bucky gag and sputter around his girth. The other man is grunting and his hands are winding through Bucky’s shaggy hair and he’s tugging hard enough that tears are being brought to Bucky’s eyes. He has to hold his breath until Steve gives him a few seconds to catch his breath and even then, only barely. It feels good to lose himself in the chest heaving, gagging, filthy simplicity of having his throat fucked until he can’t talk. There’s drool dripping down his chin and onto his chest, and his hands come up to rest on Steve’s hips now, but this time only as an anchor so that he doesn’t completely float away.

“That’s it puppy, take it just like that,” Steve grunts, “You fucking love that don’t you? Dirty boy, you love this, love me taking you however I want. I’m gonna fuck you so good after this baby, you just wait. Gonna split your little hole open on my fucking cock the way you like, little boy, and when I’m done you’re gonna let me take care of you, okay? _Fuck_ , you’re so good,” he babbles, just keeps talking, running his mouth like the snarky shit he is and Bucky’s spine is being struck by tiny bolts of lightning.

Steve has amazing stamina, so he fucks Bucky’s mouth like it’s his job for longer than most men could ever manage. At one point he’s so rough and brutal that Bucky’s vision starts to blur, but he doesn’t tap out; he loves getting lost in himself like that. Nothing outside of making Steve feel good matters to him.

He does pull out eventually though, his cock dripping in thick saliva and precome and Bucky blinks the stars out of his eyes to peer up at his sir and run his hands up his chest.

“Please sir,” he croaks, not caring about how he’s about to sound, “Please do it, do it, _do it_ , please. I love it, I wanna be _yours_ , please sir,” he’s begging and Steve’s eyes are wild and awestruck as he uses his right hand to collect all the slick off of his cock. Slowly, so slow, he brings that hand up to Bucky’s face and smears all of it around. It’s slimy and gross, it should absolutely disgust Bucky but as Steve’s thumb comes to press over his nose and his palm forcefully covers his mouth, he can’t help but sink into the mattress and go limp. He can feel his eyes watering up and he forces himself not to panic, instead letting his mind be consumed by the rush of endorphins. Steve’s face swims in and out of focus.

“Oh _fuck_ , baby, you’re so good,” he groans, removing his hand. Bucky drinks in a gasp of breath, shredding through his stinging lungs and Steve pulls his torso up to a sitting position and grips his face protectively, “You’re so fucking good baby, I’m so proud of you,” he smiles, moving to kiss Bucky. It’s gross and wet and Bucky whimpers into it helplessly, grinding his hips into the air “Gonna fuck you now.”

Slowly, Steve’s hand reaches down to his opening where he grips the base of the plug between his fingers. He twists and plays with it, letting the blunt tip nudge against Bucky’s prostate to get his cock leaking more than it already is, and smirking when he’s gifted with a small breathless moan.

“ _Steve_ ,” he groans loudly, looking up at his sir with pleading eyes. Steve stops his movements and cocks an eyebrow.

With a quick pinch to Bucky’s left ass cheek Steve growls, “What do you call me?” and jerks the plug right out of Bucky’s hole. He positively howls, body arching in a pretty curve that has Steve pinching him again in the same spot just to draw it out.

“I’m sorry, sorry sir! Please I need it, sir,” he’s shouting and slurring and he feels totally out of control, “I need you to fuck me.”

Steve rubs a hand over Bucky’s stomach in comfort before bringing the plug up to Bucky’s mouth. It’s black and wide and covered in lube and spit and Bucky feels sluttier than he has all night when he opens his mouth wide with a sob and moans when the slick weight of it settles on his tongue. The taste isn’t pleasant, but he isn’t totally revolted, and he sucks on it enthusiastically as Steve thrusts it into his mouth like he would with his cock.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks, jerking his cock roughly with his free hand. Bucky nods to the best of his ability, instantly 10 times more desperate than ever to have something inside of him. His hole is gaping open a little, exposed to the cool air and his hips are twitching with want. The slapping noise of skin on skin as Steve strokes himself is heady in the otherwise silent room.

“Beg me for it,” he commands, moving the plug so that its tip rests on Bucky’s lips.

Hands coming to grip his own hair as he helplessly fucks his hips upwards in need of friction, Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and feels tears start to drip, “Please let me have your cock sir! I need it, I need it so bad sir, I need you to- to fuck me. Use me sir,” he babbles, “use me like a fuckin’-like a fuckin’ toy, I wan’ it so bad please let me have your cock,” he’s chanting and when he opens his eyes again Steve is staring down at him like something he wants to devour and it makes his head swim with power, “Make me _yours_ , sir, use me.

“Beautiful fucking slut, you’re so gorgeous baby. You sound so god damn sweet. Gonna-gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t talk,” and he grabs the lube from where it’s resting on the sheets to drip an obscene amount of it over his length.

He thrusts in hard. Bucky likes the sting of it, likes the suddenness of being filled up in a way that only Steve can provide for him, and his mouth is open in a high moan as soon as the thick head of Steve’s cock slides home. He’s so big that he barely has to aim for Bucky’s prostate, and he grinds his hip in a nasty little twist that has Bucky wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist like a vice and _shaking_.

“Oh _thank you_ sir, thank you for letting me h-have your cock,” he pants. Steve fucks into him with a dirty rythym, making Bucky’s toes curl, and his eyes are dark and mean as he stares down into Bucky’s eyes. It has him shrinking in on himself, he feels so small with it, and his dick twitching on his stomach against a wet puddle of precome that’s pooling in the divets of his abs.

“That’s right baby boy, you fucking thank me for giving you what you need. Tell me how grateful you are for my cock,” Steve grinds out from behind clenched teeth. Bucky’s eyes are glued to a bead of sweat dripping down his temple and the way his jaw jumps has him whimpering as he sighs.

“I’m so grateful, sir,” he breathes out, long and wanton, “thank you so much f-for giving my hole what it needs.”

Steve gives him a particularly hard thrust that has him gripping the sheets so hard he hears a seam split, and it’s the first time of the night that the headboard bangs against the wall. Steve smirks smugly down at him when he hears it, his face taking on a devious glint and his right hand moving slowly up Bucky’s chest. He pinches at his abs, brushes his fingers over his cock lightly (and listening to Bucky whine with a twitch of his lips), grips his pecs in his hand roughly, before his hand reaches the base of Bucky’s flushed throat.

“You’re welcome baby. You’re so good, how could I say no, huh? Gotta keep my sweet baby happy right? Love givin’ it to ya honey,” and his voice has that rough Brooklyn drawl he works so hard to hide and it has Bucky sinking further into subspace. The world has gone glittery and faint as he feels the callouses of Steve’s fingers wrapping around his throat, eliciting a choked off scream from him.

“There you fucking go, right there honey. You’re so pretty like this, you look like a damn picture, I’m tellin’ ya. Love it when you get like this, all fucked out and so-,” thrust, “fucking-,” squeeze of his throat, “ _sweet_ ,” and he gives Bucky both at the same time so that his eyes are rolling back in his head.

Steve fucks him like that for what seems like forever. He’s floating on cloud 900, groaning and moaning, and even crying as his sir gives him exactly what he needs, breaks him down into a million little fucked out pieces so that he can put him together again. His thrusts alternate between being unbearably rough, almost painful, to deep and sensual and he’s shaking with the need to come but his sir hasn’t said it yet, so he can’t and he wants this so badly, he’s needed this so badly.

An eternity later he can feel Steve about to come because the hand on his throat gets stupidly tight. All of that super serum strength gets poured into choking the fucking air out of Bucky’s limp body and he moans like a fucking whore until he can’t find the air to do so anymore. Black spots dance in front of his eyes and he can feel the tracks of his tears and vaguely hear himself stammering out pleas to come but none of that matters. All he cares about is the furious pounding his prostate is taking, the stinging around the rim of his abused little hole, and Steve’s face, blurry and beautiful as it is.

“Gon-gonna come all over your gorgeous face, you hear me? You gonna be good and take my come?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky gasps out, throwing himself wildly into Steve’s hips and trying to tighten his hole to milk the come out of the other man.

Steve practically yanks Bucky off of his cock before knee walking erratically up the bed to kneel over his head and strip his cock wildly. The lube and spit that had gathered on his length is flying wetly, sticking to Bucky’s upper lip and getting in his eyelashes like the rest of the mess and he moans like a greedy slut for Steve’s come, begs for it in a voice that can barely manage a whisper. That hand comes back to his throat, wet and nasty, and Steve seems to be trying to bruise him as he gives his cock one last stroke with his other hand and lets out a guttural groan into the air.

“ _Shit_!” he gasps, “Good boy, good boy, take it,” he’s chanting, and the warm splatter of his come hits Bucky’s skin like a prayer in the morning. He’s still whining and groaning when he stretches himself upwards a little to suckle at the head of Steve’s cock like it’s all he needs, and when Steve is finally finished he relaxes into the pillows with a worshipping parting kiss to the drooling slit.

“You’re so good baby,” Steve whispers, running one hand over the soiled mess of Bucky’s face while the other reaches down between his legs, playing with his open, slick hole, “Gonna make my perfect little pet come, okay? Ready?”

“Yes, yes, yes sir please,” he groans.

When he comes, spurting over his own stomach with Steve’s hand around his throat and four fingers worked into the sloppy looseness of his hole, the entire world seems to chatter apart, like it never even mattered. He can feel himself thanking Steve over and over but the breath has been so thoroughly stolen from his lungs that he isn’t sure if he’s actually making noise or not. Everything around him has been consumed by light and warmth, he’s warm down to his toes and his mind is silent for once.

* * *

 

Mornings like these are always so simple.

Bucky wakes up in the arms of the man who loves him, who protects him, and laughs with him, and cares for him, and he’s slept the entire night through. Mornings like these are normal and easy to navigate because he doesn’t have to look for a quiet mind, he doesn’t have to look for something to wake up for; Steve’s right there.

These mornings are rare.

Very rarely is his entire life completely and utterly still, totally his and undeniably untroubled, but they’re the very best. They always come after his downward spirals of irritation and dissociation and he always feels grounded in both the present and his state of mind when the sun rises. He knows that in a few minutes he’ll get up to make coffee and Steve will get up to run and when he comes home Bucky will be watching the Food Network as he bakes, soft music crooning away in the background. Maybe Bucky will dance around the kitchen, a foreign, yet welcome sight that always brings a smile to Steve’s face and a light to his eyes. The bruises of the night before, whether they’re under his eyes of under his clothes, will have faded away into a memory shrouded in blue film, and everything, for a moment, will make sense.

“Good morning,” Steve grunts tiredly, tightening his arms where they’re wrapped around Bucky. He’s sleeping on his back, a habit that comes from constant watchfulness, but he has the solid weight of Bucky lying on top of him to keep him calm and tethered to the time they’re living in.

“Mornin’,” he croaks back. His voice is still shredded from the night before, his vocal chords scratchy and dry, but that’s okay. He knows Steve loves hearing him like this, and to be honest, he doesn’t mind it himself.

They stretch and their bones pop and all the while keeping in contact with each other in some way, shape or form. It takes about 10 minutes for them to roll away from each other, and another 10 for Bucky to find the energy to actually get out of the bed and by the time he makes it to the kitchen Steve is already changed into his stupid athletic wear. They grin softly at each other, Bucky’s lips twitching into something secret and familiar, and Steve’s own mouth curving into a boyish happiness so different from the smirks and wolfish grins from their night together.

“Sleep well?” Steve asks finally. They’re standing across from each other in the kitchen and Bucky, who feels the distance very acutely, shuffles forward and wraps himself around Steve’s middle, feeling clingy.

“Very well,” he breathes, “all because of you.”

“You needed it. I’m here when you need it.”

“You’re always here.”

“Surprised you’re not sick of my ugly mug yet,” Steve snorts, pulling Bucky closer and holding him tighter as he brushes a hand over his shaggy hair.

“Who said I wasn’t?” he laughs quietly. The two of them stand there, hugging and giggling for a few moments before Steve looks over his shoulder at the time on the stove and pulls away to start towards the door. Bucky’s going to make croissants and chocolate scones for when Steve returns, or maybe cinnamon rolls. He’s not sure but he wants something warm and pretty to look at.

“I’m glad I can make it a little better,” Steve admits to him as he moves to grab his shoes. Bucky doesn’t follow him down the hall, knows some of these things are easier to say if they don’t have to look at one another.

“You make it a lot better,” Bucky calls in reply, “You make me feel like me.”

“You’d better tell me when you don’t. I know the sleep- I know it’s not easy on you, but I want to try to make it as easy as possible,” the elevator door is opening and Bucky is grinning to himself.

“Want me to wake you at 2 in the morning and ask you to choke me ‘til I black out?”

“If it’ll help.”

It does. It does and Bucky is so grateful that it does so he bakes cinnamon rolls and croissants and makes the fancy coffee that Steve likes to pretend he doesn’t love. They nap on the couch. And it’s not a permanent fix, in a few weeks Bucky will have probably another one of his spirals and things will get bad again, and he’ll make bad decisions and maybe even feel the Soldier on the edges of his consciousness, creeping and prowling, but Steve will be there with big guiding hands and a loud voice and it helps. The next day Bucky wakes up smiling because he deserves good morning kisses, and sometimes he forgets, but Steve never does. The paintings on the wall sing a tune, and Steve hums into the kiss like a dork.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There's face slapping, some pretty intense choking (Bucky's vision blurs because of it), and mentioned pet play (Steve calls Bucky "pet" and "puppy" at one point) thought it's not at all integral to the plot. Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on twitter @ nataliabarncs and please leave kudos/comments


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